


Life Finds a Way

by SunField_Antique



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Children, F/M, Family Feels, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Hermione Granger-centric, Marriage, Married Life, Pregnancy, Ron Weasley is Our King, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Ron is the chill one in the relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy, even if CC sucks, one-shot probably, short-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunField_Antique/pseuds/SunField_Antique
Summary: It's the birth of Harry's second child, but Hermione Granger-Weasley's mind is elsewhere.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Life Finds a Way

**St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies, London**

**February 27, 2006**

A weary-looking Harry Potter stood in front of his two best friends. “It’s a boy,” he said quietly, but he looked like he could shout from the rooftops. “Another baby boy! Born a few hours ago! And Ginny is doing just fine, by the way,” Harry added quickly, preempting Ron’s question. Ginny was his little sister, after all. “Just tired; she just wanted to take a short nap before she saw anyone. Twenty-two hours of labor takes a lot out of a person . . . and my hand!” he joked as he shook out his hand. “Darn quidditch grip.”

“And the baby?” Hermione asked, brow furrowed.

Harry flicked his wand and conjured a chair, copying the ones his friends had been sitting in. “Oh, yeah, Albus is great! Healers wanted to do couple more diagnostic spells while he and Gin were sleeping, though. He’s six pounds, two ounces,” he babbled. “He’s little small for being full term, so the healers are being extra cautious.” He paused then whispered softly. “But still so, so _beautiful._ ” He stared wistfully at the room down the hall, a soft grin on his face.

Hermione gave her best friend a gentle hug. “Congratulations, Harry. You must be so proud.”

“Congrats, mate!” Ron patted his best friend on the back. “So you went with the name Albus then. And the middle name?”

“It took a bit of convincing, but Ginny finally agreed.” Harry flopped down into his chair, and Hermione handed him a cup of water. “Oh, thanks. Yup, Albus Severus Potter.” Hermione grimaced and Ronald smothered a groan with a cough. “She’s convinced we’ve doomed him to a life of mockery.” Harry continued, completely oblivious to his friends’ less than positive reactions. “But for all their faults, Dumbledore and Snape made me the man I am today.” The bespectacled man shrugged. “It’s the only way I really can truly say thank you. For caring about me, I mean—supporting me. Oh! That reminds me!”

Harry leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees. Hermione knew that stance: serious business time. “I’ve been thinking about my family’s future and my place in it. That I want to _keep_ my place in it. So, I’ve decided to take a desk job, with minimal field work.”

Hermione gasped. “But, Harry, you _love_ your job!”

“And mate,” Ron protested, “You’re an amazing Auror, and practically unmatched in an all-out wand fight!”

“Exactly, but we don’t see many of those anymore do we? Most of the old Death Eaters are either dead or imprisoned.” Harry shrugged. “Post-war operations are wrapping up. Robards’ saying we’ve got to transition back to peacetime protocols. And besides—I want,” his voice cracked, “I want to see my kids grow up, be there for all the memories that . . .” Harry trailed off, but Hermione knew what he was thinking. _That James Potter never got to make with Harry._

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered softly, “Then I think you made the right decision.” She cleared her throat. “So what does Ginny think?”

“What?” Harry drew out of his thoughts. “Oh! Yeah, she thinks it’s great! Says it takes the stress off her too, actually.” Harry nodded to himself. “It also got us talking about other “safeties” for a family. So . . . we want you two to be our children’s godparents. You know, in case anything happens to either of us.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry. _Godparent? Me, raising_ three _children? I know married young, but . . . parents? No, no, NO! I’m much too young for children! I’m not ready to take on that much responsibility! Not this soon. But wait, Sirius was even younger when he became a godparent, and he should’ve been Harry’s guardian at twenty-one—no, wait bad example. He was a terrible godfather and probably would’ve made an even worse guardian . . . no! No, Hermione, don’t go there— don’t bring up Sirius to Harry, that’d ruin the moment. Dear God, three children? I don’t even know how to tell Ronald about the—_

Her husband’s excited happy voice broke thru her racing thoughts. “Really? Wow, thanks, mate! Y’know for a second there we—well, I—was a little worried you’d chosen Neville and Hannah or something, but yeah! Of course, we’ll be godparents! Right, Hermione . . . Hermione?” Ron must’ve noticed her face, frozen in a panicked expression. He sounded concerned. “You all right in there?”

Hermione blinked. “What? Oh . . . godparent? That’s very sweet of you to think of us Harry . . .” Harry looked hopeful. Ron was analyzing her, concern clouding his eyes. _Fake it for Harry_ , his eyes said. _We’ll talk when he’s gone._ She sighed internally, then faked a bright smile and hoped it was convincing. “Of course! We’d love to!

Harry smiled wide. “Great!” He stood up. “Well,” he yawned, “I’m going to go grab Jamie to check on Ginny,” He gave them both quick hugs and added, as if as an afterthought, “And my _second_ son,” enjoying the novelty of the word. Ron and Hermione shared a quiet chuckle at their friend’s expense as he practically skipped down the hall. The mood between them soured the moment Harry was out of sight.

Ron turned on her. “Okay, spill,” he said flatly. “First, the facts: You love Harry to bits and Ginny’s one of your best girlfriends. We’re married, so the kids would have the two of us. He’ll be well-loved and be well-supported.” He threw his hands up in the air. “So what’s the problem?”

Hermione gave a dramatic huff. “The problem, _Ronald_ , is you didn’t ask ME first before deciding for both of us! It’s patronizing and sexist and you _know_ I hate it when you do that!”

“What?” Ron scoffed. “Come on, Hermione; don’t give me that! I can see your emotions even if I don't get where it’s coming from.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Well,” Ron blushed, “Getting better, at any rate. No, I know what I saw earlier. When I make you mad, your hair gets all,” he gestured about wildly, “bristly. Like a hedgehog. But when Harry was talking about godparents, you didn’t bristle at all; you froze. You held your breath and your eyes went wide—just like with your panic attacks, but shorter. My guess? You’re scared; scared of being a godparent and I want to know why.”

Hermione stared at her husband open-mouthed. Caught like a Death Eater with a Dark Mark tattoo, she dropped the ‘righteous fury’ act and back into the chair—revealing the frazzled woman beneath. She took a deep breath. “Fine, I’m scared. I’m too young, all right?” Ron looked confused, so she elaborated.

“Godmothers are supposed to be . . . older. Right? Yeah—older. Like, my mom was 35 when she had me, and an accomplished dental surgeon. I’m barely 26! I can barely handle little James over a weekend, and now Harry thinks I can raise three kids? Absolutely ridiculous, I mean, _really_?”

“Whoa, slow down a click!” said Ron. He looked more confused by the minute. “Who said anything about _raising_ them? Hermione, this is just precau—“

“And another thing! Hermione said cutting him off. “It’s too soon! I had it all planned out: we were going to wait until I was a little less swamped at work before starting a family but—nope!” she was ranting, and Hermione became vaguely aware of her voice steadily increasing speed and volume. “Scrap those plans because with a kid there’s no way in hell I’d have time for _work_! And to make matters worse, we only just got committee approval last week, too! No, it’s much too soon, even if everyone else doesn’t think so! I’m not ready! I’m not—”

Ronald Weasley took hold of his frantic wife, desperate to make sense of anything. “Love, what in Merlin’s name are you—“

“ _I’m not ready to be a mother_!”

Hermione winced. That was not how she wanted to break the news. She turned to her husband; now Ron was the one frozen. Hermione sat; there were tears on her cheeks, and she cursed the hormones wreaking havoc on her usually tightly reined emotions. She gently touched her still flat stomach.

“Ronald,” she whispered. “I’m pregnant.”

Ron spoke in an awestruck whisper. “What? Y-you’re,” he gulped. “You’re pregnant?” She nodded, but Ron didn’t seem convinced. “How? W-we were careful!” he stammered. “What about the potion? And your muggle ‘die-a-phra-gum’ thing? What happened?”

Hermione nodded. “That’s what I said, but Healer Winthrop used 3 different spells and one very revolting potion to confirm it. I’m pregnant. Eleven weeks pregnant, give or take.” She shifted uncomfortably. “She said all contraceptives have a possibility of failure.” Ever the pragmatist, she shrugged. “Can’t argue with scientific fact.”

Ron sat back in his chair and ran his hand thru his flaming red hair as he processed the news. In hindsight, Hermione was thankful for the private hallway St. Mungo’s had offered for the Potter birth (one of the perks of being the Man-Who-Lived-Twice).

As they sat in silence, Hermione sunk once again into the whirlpool of panicked thoughts. _This couldn’t be worse timing:_ just _when I get my muggleborn and squib support bill into committee,_ this _happens._ Struck by an uncomfortable thought, she groaned. _They were right; oh God, those Ministry gossips—they were right about me._

_______________________________

_“Did you hear? That Granger woman just got her Werewolf Support bill passed!” At the sound of her name, a then 22-year-old Hermione Granger-Weasley had slowed her steps to eavesdrop on the middle-aged wizards chatting in the Ministry cafeteria that day. “Pretty impressive for such a young muggleborn witch.”_

_“Yes, quite impressive,” said his grey-haired friend. “She’s very promising, that one. Brilliant too,” he sighed. “It’s a real shame she’ll be leaving us soon—she got married last month, you know. I’ve seen it time and again: young witch, racing up the political ladder. But then they get married and the clock starts ticking, ‘cause you’ve only got a year or two before she’s pregnant and she promises she’ll be back in three months, but mark my words: it’ll be eleven years before you see that witch working here again.”_ _The man had shrugged in resignation. “That’s just how it works around here...”_

_At the time, Hermione had marched back to her office and slammed the door behind her. Later that evening, she’d ranted to Ronald about the abominable sexism of it all. It had led them to a lengthy family planning session, culminating in the mutual decision that, for the sake of stability, they would wait until they were 28 before broaching the topic of children again._

_________________________________

Now, Hermione Granger-Weasley was 26-years-old and very much pregnant. She groaned. _At least I last three years longer he predicted_ , she thought sarcastically. Then she shook her head. _NO,_ she thought firmly. _Damn their gender norms to hell! But . . . Ron’ll expect that too, won't he? Expect me to be like Molly: stay-at-home mom, waiting at the door for her Auror with a toddler on her hip, and apple pie baking in the oven?_ The image made her want to hurl (though recently even food-related thoughts made her sick). _That’s not me! I’m rubbish in the kitchen, and cleaning? I can’t stand mess and I’d run myself ragged cleaning up after a kid. Oh God, who am I kidding, I’d be a horrible mother, irritable and nagging, constantly wishing I were back at work. Ronald would hate me! We’d fight all the time and OH GOD EVERYTHING IS—_

Hermione heard her husband exhale loudly. “Bloody hell, crazy timing, yeah? It’ll be hard but—” he took her small hands in his. He’d come to his own conclusion, then. She steeled herself for heartbreak and backbreaking expectations only to have his response draw her up short.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “W-what?” Hermione choked out a sob. “But Ronald, you don’t understand! I-I’m not made to be a homemaker! And I _know_ , wizarding culture has different rules, but it’s not _me!_ If you force me to stay home I’ll get bitter and angry. I just know it! I’d resent you, resent the kids, hate magic, and we’d end up divorced. I’m sorry Ronald, but I can never be your mum—“

“Whoa, there!” Ron held up his hands in the universal signal of surrender. “Where’d this come from, ‘force you’? . . . Wait,” his brow furrowing as he pieced together her point, “Is _this_ what you’ve been freaking out about—my expectations?” Hermione nodded, sniffling, and Ron’s voice hardened. “Merlin’s beard, Hermione . . . I thought you knew me better than this!” She gaped up at him, utterly confused.

“Did I ever once say I wanted you to stay home? To be like Mum?” Ron yelled. “No, I never did, did I? I’d never, _ever_ do that to you and I never will, Hermione!” he shouted. Ron rubbed his face and sighed. “Buggering hell, woman,” he murmured sadly.

At that moment, Hermione realized how much she’d hurt her husband, prompting more tears. She hugged him, and Ron wrapped his arms around her small frame despite his sadness and frustration. “I’m so, so sorry,” Hermione whispered into his shirt. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I get so caught up in my thoughts sometimes.”

Hermione waved her wand and nonverbally transfigured two hospital chairs into a comfortable love seat. She snuggled into his side and placed her head on his shoulder. They held each other for some time, and Ron gently ran his fingers through her wild mane of hair. Finally, she spoke. “What are going to do?” she asked quietly. “About the baby?” She placed a tentative hand on her still flat stomach. “What will we do when she’s born? You said you don’t expect me to stay home but…” Hermione trailed off.

Ron took a deep breath. “You know how I go to Weasley Wizard Wheezes when you work late on Thursdays?” She nodded. “Well, last week it hit me: I’m an Auror, but at work, all I can think about is the shop. Catching bad guys was great at the beginning and all, but now? I kind of hate it. So…I might just...quit.

"What?"

"I’ve been talking to George, and he’s offered to make me an official partner.”

Hermione looked up at her husband. “That’s great, Ronald, but where does the baby come into all this?” she asked tentatively.

“I’ll quit the Aurors,” he repeated. “And . . . I _like_ little ones,” he smiled, “and I dare say they like me too.” Hermione nodded, thinking of how much the Weasley clan loved their ‘Uncle Ronnie,’ and how, out of all of them, Ron was the first one besides Ginny to get the firstborn Potter to sleep in his arms. “And you get three months’ maternity leave, right love? I know it’s unusual for a guy,” Ron blushed scarlet, “but what if, say, _I_ stay home with the baby? Take care of the house? The chores?”

“Really?” Hermione sat up, absolutely amazed. “You…want to stay home?”

Ron shrugged awkwardly. “Well, somebody needs to, yeah? And, I know it won’t be easy or anything, but I can learn. I can ask Mum or Ginny for help if I need to.” He tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “And I _never_ want to be the one to hold you back from your dreams. Because you, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, are a barmy-arse witch who’s going to change this world and become Minister of Magic someday, I know it." He cupped her cheek. "So stop worrying so much; we’ll figure this out. We always do. Together.”

Hermione pulled him into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry,” she said through happy tears. “I didn’t give you enough credit.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” he said with a wide grin.

Hermione Granger-Weasley kissed her husband full on the mouth. “Yes,” she said. “You certainly are, Ronald Weasley.”

**\---END----**

**Author's Note:**

> Please review. I wrote this for a Creative Writing class 2 years ago. I may be a shameless Dramione AU shipper, but I will defend book canon Ron Weasley and Romione until I die. 
> 
> Marriages don't have to be built on similar people--but their values need to match.
> 
> (Based on my parents' relationship, married 26 years and counting.)


End file.
